


Forever on the Lookout

by Snow



Category: Deathstalker - Simon R. Green
Genre: Gen, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:17:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snow/pseuds/Snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brett Random plans a theft and everything goes completely as expected. Completely. As. Expected. Right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever on the Lookout

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sithwitch13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithwitch13/gifts).



> I owe a huge thanks to Lexie for betaing this and making it much better.

Brett rolled his eyes at the guard standing to his left. Then, just to be safe, he rolled his eyes at the guard to his right. It was only when Brett was trying to catch the attention of the guard in front of him so he could roll his eyes at her that he realized he was surrounded.

Brett took a deep breath. Coincidental guards were always a possibility. And given what he remembered of this area, coincidental guards were even a _good_ possibility. "Excuse me," he said, trying his best to act confident. "But I'm afraid this interview really can't conduct itself." The guards exchanged a look over his head, but the one blocking his way moved, and Brett would have given himself a high-five, if he could have figured out how to do so without it looking a little dumb. Also, suspicious.

Brett tried to shut the door behind him, noticing there was someone in the room already, but one of the guards was following him through. "For your protection," she said, which didn't make Brett feel a whole lot safer. Partly because when he'd spoken the word interview he had pictured a doctor, or a surgeon. It wasn't like he particularly wanted to be conducting an interview with anyone, but the guard was waiting for him to start.

"Right, the interview," Brett muttered, still confident he could make it out of this situation with himself and the drugs in his pocket completely intact. He turned for the first time to face the man he'd be apparently interviewing, but focused on the window as he asked the first question that came to mind. "How are you doing today?"

"Happy. Ecstatic. I'm Delighted. Well, Delight. And you're Brett." Delight tilted his head. "Or possibly a shade of red. That might come later. Or it might be someone else. I don't care. How are you?"

"I'm fine," Brett said, wondering what he had gotten himself into, and why the guard had believed him when he said he here to conduct an interview. "I'm _also_ Justin Enthos, from the Cable." He emphasized the name (imaginary) and media outlet (also imaginary, as far as he knew) for the benefit of the guard in the room. He wondered whether he wanted to stay here long enough to be missed by the security patrol that was doubtless looking for him or whether he just wanted to jump out the window now. "Do you think you present a threat to the people here?"

"Yes. But not just here." Brett glanced longingly at the window, trying to figure out how hard it would be to break it, and whether or not the guard would be willing to help, given the alternative was staying in this room, with someone who'd just admitted to being a threat. "I'm the guitar and you're the song," Delight continued. "I can't help skimming the surface of your future. Sorry. It's going to be so much worse. And it will be your fault, Brett Random. But there will still be happiness. For me, at least."

Brett, drawn back by the mention of his full name, glanced at the guard, who shrugged. "Some days he thinks he's talking to Douglas Campbell or, once, the Blessed Deathstalker himself. If anything, him talking to petty thieves is an improvement."

"Hey!" Brett started but was overridden.

"Pride is irrelevant," Delight said. "In the end, there will be nothing but the Empire, and its fall. Fall? Fail? Teeter, maybe."

Brett sighed extra-loudly. "Are you done?" the guard asked, but she sounded sympathetic.

"Yes." Brett followed the guard back out into the corridor, casting only one longing gaze at the window. "Honestly, I could make more sense than him. Even if I was drunk. And in a coma," he continued talking, because he wasn't sure which direction he would be expected to go in to actually leave in. He hadn't precisely come in through the front door.

"I'll walk you to the exit," the guard told him. "Security regulations and all."

Brett nodded in a manner he hoped looked more sympathetic than gleeful. "I understand."

"So, why would you want to interview an Ecstatic?" the guard asked as they walked towards the exit.

"I don't particularly, but my boss thought it needed doing. Personally, I would rather have stayed home today. But then I don't get paid. So, what kind of drugs is Delight on?" Brett asked as they walked in a direction he hoped would eventually lead to an exit. He imagined how much money he could get for the drug which made Delight so...ecstatic; probably more than the one he'd actually stolen. The only real benefit of _this_ one was to dramatically increase creative output. Apparently it didn't have any effect on the quality of the creativity though, just the quantity.

"Oh, he's not on any drugs. They were like this when they arrived, due primarily to some kind of genetic modification that I don't even want to try to understand."

"Right," Brett replied, wishing he hadn't been stuck with the chattiest guard ever.

He was beginning to think he could smell the outside. It was either that or he'd accidentally inhaled some kind of drug, and Brett was really hoping for the former. Still, he was expecting trouble, because nothing could ever go _well_ for him. He wasn't surprised to hear another guard yelling "Freeze!" in his general direction. Brett ran.

He had a head-start, but was quickly over-taken by the female guard, who then...ran past him. Brett hadn't expected that, and quickly repositioned himself so he _wouldn't_ be between the two guards, an action he was proud of making when a blaster shot hit the guard running in front of him, toppling her. Brett ran past her and around the corner, before slowing to a walking pace as he left out the front door of the highly classified hospital.

* * *

"Look," Brett told the man in front of him, the one who was making Brett wished he carried heavy weaponry and knew how to use it. "Look," he repeated, because he was still trying to find the right words to say after that, "I stole the drugs because you said you wanted to buy them off of me. Here they are."

The man shook his head. "No. Sorry. I don't want them anymore. Decided they'd be completely useless."

"That's hardly my fault."

"I'm not trying to suggest it is. Which is why you can keep both the deposit I gave you and the drugs you've stolen on my advice."

"Oh, yay," said Brett, trying to squeeze as much sarcasm as he could into the two words. A different man might have shouted for his money. _Brett_ chattered happily about the local customs of a planet he made up on the spot, and picked the pocket of his client. Some people, Brett concluded, mentally approximating the amount of money he'd just slipped from his client's pocket to his own, were idiots. Then, because the man was right, the drugs were worse than useless if he didn't have a buyer, and Brett had to dispose of them _somehow_ , he slipped the drugs into his client's glass of wine.

"I don't think we'll do business again in the future," said Brett, and he stood up and left.

**Author's Note:**

> I welcome and appreciate comments, including constructive criticism.


End file.
